The Falling Girl (A Private Investigator Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Lee Callaway #3)

by Thomas Fincham

  After making the call, they drove to the restaurant where Joely worked and waited for Fisher at a table in the far corner.

  Jimmy rubbed his hands nervously as he stared out the window.

  “Don’t worry,” Callaway assured him. “Dana will hear you out.”

  An SUV pulled into a parking spot and Fisher got out. She then entered the restaurant, spotted them, and came over.

  Callaway stood up. “Detective Dana Fisher, this is Jimmy Keith.”

  Jimmy shook her hand. “Lee speaks highly of you,” he said.

  “Unfortunately, he never mentioned you,” she said.

  “I don’t blame him. I’m sort of like an absent parent.”

  “I guess you two have something in common,” Fisher said. She knew Callaway rarely saw his daughter, and she had scolded him about it numerous times. Fisher and Callaway had dated once, and Fisher always believed Callaway still held feelings for his ex-wife, even if he chose to bury them deep inside.

  “Ouch, Dana,” Callaway said. “You don’t have to speak the truth.”

  “So what did you want to tell me?” she asked, getting to the point.

  “Take a seat, please,” Callaway replied. She sat on one side of the table; Callaway and Jimmy sat on the other. Callaway turned to Jimmy. “Okay, tell her what you told me.”

  Jimmy took a deep breath and said, “I was hired by Gail Roberts’s family to investigate what happened to her.”

  Fisher’s brow furrowed. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “She died after falling from her apartment balcony.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember. They said it was suicide.”

  “Her family doesn’t believe it was.”

  “Okay,” Fisher said.

  “Gail was also Dillon Scott’s personal assistant at the time of her death.”

  Fisher paused. “And you think he had something to do with what happened to her?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jimmy replied. “But he does have an alibi for the night of her death. He was shooting a movie in Vermont.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “A few days before her death, Gail had confessed to her father that something was bothering her. She was torn about what to do. He pressed her for details, but she wouldn’t say. She did mention it had to do with Dillon Scott. Like any father, he told her to follow her conscience.”

  “I still don’t understand what this has to do with Scott if he had an alibi.”

  “Gail then told her father that she was going to make an announcement. She died the night before she was going to do this.”

  Fisher opened her mouth but then shut it. “So what are you doing in Milton now that Scott is dead?” she asked a few moments later.

  “I want to know if you found anything that might link Gail’s death to Scott’s death,” Jimmy replied.

  “What would that prove?”

  “It would prove Gail didn’t commit suicide.”

  “And that she was murdered?” Fisher added.

  Jimmy was about to say something but then decided against it.

  Fisher said, “Listen, I understand you have a responsibility to Gail Roberts’s family. They don’t want to believe their daughter would take her own life. But if the investigators have concluded it was a suicide, then what good would it do to drag another person’s name through the mud?”

  Callaway sensed Fisher’s defensiveness. He said, “We are not insinuating anything about Scott. We just want answers.”

  “So do I,” Fisher shot back. “I have a beloved actor who was murdered in my city. Everyone is expecting me to find out who did it. I don’t have the time to look into how this links to Gail Roberts’s death.”

  “That’s why we want to help you in your investigation,” Callaway said.

  “What?”

  “We should work together. With Holt away, I’m sure you could use an extra pair of eyes and hands.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “Let me think about it.”

  She got up and walked to the door.

  Callaway caught up to her. “Dana…”

  “Do you trust him?” she asked.

  “Jimmy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do,” he replied firmly. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have become a private investigator.”

  Fisher gave him a look. “So he’s the reason you quit being a deputy sheriff?”

  “No, wait, I was going to leave anyway,” he quickly backtracked. “What I’m saying is that Jimmy is one of the best PIs out there. He’s actually one of the good ones.”

  “Coming from you, isn’t that a biased opinion?”

  “Don’t take my word for it,” he said. “Do your own research and find out.”

  “I looked him up the moment you mentioned his name,” she replied, “and he’s legit.”

  “I told you,” Callaway said with a smile. “Come on, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

  She sighed. “Holt would be furious if he found out I was sharing information on an active investigation.”

  “Holt’s head would explode if he found out you were discussing it with me,” Callaway said.

  “You’re not helping.”

  “Sorry.”

  They went back to the table and sat down. Fisher said, “What I tell you should not leave this table.”

  “Understood,” Jimmy said.

  “Absolutely,” Callaway added.

  She spent twenty minutes filling them in on what she had found so far. At the end, Callaway said, “And you believe Scott went to Yonge Avenue to meet someone?”

  “Yes,” Fisher replied.

  “And you don’t know why?”

  “I don’t, but I intend to go back to Yonge Avenue and find out.”

  “In the meantime,” Callaway said, “we’ll see what we can uncover on Gail’s death and if it links to Scott’s. We’ll let you know what we find.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  After Fisher left, Jimmy asked, “What do you want to do first?”

  “There was something I wanted to do the moment you gave me the money,” Callaway replied.

  “Like what?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  They got in the Impala and drove straight to Julio’s shop. They found Julio working underneath a red Corvette. He stood up, wiped his greasy hands on a piece of cloth, and said, “Lee, I have no jobs for you today.”

  “I’m actually here for the Charger,” Callaway said.

  Julio paused. “You know I can’t let you take it without settling the bill, right?”

  Callaway pulled out the envelope, removed a stack of hundreds, and handed it to Julio. “That should cover it.”

  Julio counted the money. A smile broke across his face. He escorted them to the corner of the shop. “I even polished and waxed it just for you,” he said.

  The car glistened under the fluorescent lights. Callaway had to admit, the Charger looked far better now than it did before it was damaged. Julio had taken extra care of it, just like he promised.

  “This is Jimmy Keith,” Callaway said, introducing the two.

  “Nice place you got here,” Jimmy said. He then pulled out his business card. “If you ever need information on your competition, you give me a call.”

  Julio took the card and said, “Lee said the same thing to me the last time he was here.”

  Jimmy smiled. “Great minds think alike.”

  Callaway got in the driver’s seat. He placed his hands on the steering wheel. He inhaled. Even the interior smelled like new.

  While he was learning the ropes with Jimmy, a case came through that Jimmy thought Callaway should take on alone. It was a simple case. A client wanted dirt on her cheating husband. They were in the process of a messy divorce, and she wanted a leg up on him. Callaway spent weeks tailing the husband. He found that the husband was not with one but three mistresses. He also caught the husband removing furniture and valuables from a property the court had frozen until all as
sets were accounted for. The information Callaway provided enabled the client to get a generous divorce settlement. The client’s husband was a collector of cars. His garage was filled with some of the rarest automobiles on the planet. The wife despised the collection. Her husband was known to spend more time with them than with her. For a job well done, she offered Callaway his choice of any car. Callaway could have taken a Lamborghini, a Maserati, or even a McLaren, but he selected a car that was relegated to the back of the garage.

  The Dodge Charger spoke to him, like it was made for him. Jimmy was livid when he heard Callaway had opted to choose the Charger over the likes of a Maserati, but Callaway didn’t care. He knew he would end up selling a fancy car, but the Charger he would keep for life.

  He turned the ignition. The Charger roared to life. He revved it a few times, and he could feel the power.

  “You like the sound?” Julio asked over the noise.

  “I love it. Thanks, Julio.”

  Jimmy got in the passenger seat and they drove out of the shop. When they were on the road, Jimmy asked, “You got any money left over?”

  “Yeah, sure, about a grand.”

  Jimmy smiled. “We did something for you. Now why don’t we do something for me?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Fisher walked down the street and frowned. She was at Yonge Avenue, and she had already knocked on a dozen doors. She showed a photo of Dillon Scott to the owners and employees of each establishment. They all knew who Scott was. They just didn’t remember seeing him on the night of his death.

  She had considered requesting that patrol officers canvas the area, but she wasn’t sure what Scott’s visit to Yonge Avenue had to do with his murder.

  What if he was here to shop? she thought. The street had a nice collection of businesses, and tourists were known to visit here.

  She felt a headache coming on. She was hoping someone had seen him and could help fill in the blanks for her—the biggest blank being the time he left his home and the time he returned.

  Why did he leave in the first place? Who was he meeting? Did this person ultimately murder Scott?

  She made her way back to her SUV. She passed a bar she had parked in front of the last time she was here, but she remembered it was closed at the time.

  She decided to go inside. She found the bartender behind the counter. He was a short man with wrinkles all over his hands and face. His eyes were dull and gray. “What can I get you, little lady?” he asked.

  She flashed her badge. “I’m on duty, but I got a question for you.”

  “I hope I got the right answer for you,” he said with a smile.

  She held up Scott’s photo. “Did you by any chance see this man in your bar?”

  “I sure did.”

  Fisher arched an eyebrow. “You did?”

  “Yeah, he came in wearing these large sunglasses, but the moment he ordered a drink, I knew who he was.”

  “What did he order?” Fisher asked, curious.

  “Gin and tonic.”

  “And how long was he here?”

  “Twenty minutes, I guess. He sat at the end of the bar, all the way in the corner. He spoke to a woman. He then got up and left.”

  Was this woman the person Scott was here to meet? she thought.

  “You have security cameras?” she asked.

  “Of course I do. I’d be stupid not to. You gotta take security seriously these days. And I even have a shotgun under the counter. And before you ask, I’ve got my firearm license over there.” He pointed to a photo frame on the wall behind him. “I thought I’d put it up so that people would know I’m armed and ready to defend what’s mine.”

  “Okay,” Fisher said. “Can you show me the footage?”

  He took her to a small windowless room. Bankers Boxes lined the walls. They likely contained invoices and documents. In the middle of the room was a table with a keyboard and monitor on it. “The system is easy to use,” the bar owner said. “You punch in the time and date, and it will show you what you want to see. It’s all saved on the cloud, so you can go back at least a month.”

  “You’re not staying?” she asked.

  “I’m the only one in today. One of my employees is sick, so I had to get someone else to come in at the last minute. They’re on their way, but until then, someone’s gotta serve the customers. Don’t worry, if you get stuck, come to the front and let me know.”

  “Thanks,” she said, taking a seat.

  She played with the controls. The owner was right; the system was easy to navigate. The taxi receipt had said 7:20 PM. It was reasonable to assume that upon arriving at Yonge Avenue, Scott may have gone straight to the bar to meet whoever he was here to meet. She hoped it was the woman the owner had mentioned.

  She punched in the time and date and watched the image on the screen instantly change. The camera was placed behind the counter with a panoramic view of the entire establishment. The image was black and white with no audio, but it was sharp and high-quality.

  The owner was behind the counter. Two people were seated by the bar with drinks in front of them. A girl wearing an apron was taking drinks to a couple at a table by the windows.

  She must be the employee the owner was talking about, Fisher thought.

  Fisher waited eagerly for Scott to enter. As the clock ticked to seven forty-five, she got the feeling Scott had not come directly to the bar as she had initially thought.

  She fast-forwarded the footage. People zoomed past the camera at high speeds. At precisely eight thirty-four, Scott appeared on the screen.

  She played the footage at normal speed.

  Scott made his way to the bar, spoke to the owner, and then moved to the far end.

  Even though he was farther away, she could see he still had on his sunglasses, just as the owner said. His drink arrived and he gulped it down in one breath. His chin dropped to his chest, and he moved his hand through his hair. The movement reminded Fisher of someone who was under a lot of stress.

  She squinted at the screen. On the taxi CCTV camera, she had clearly seen Scott carrying a backpack, but now it was not with him.

  “What did you do with it?” she muttered to herself.

  A woman approached Scott. They exchanged a few words. She then sat next to him on a stool and they began to talk. Their conversation lasted not even five minutes before he abruptly got up, said something to her, and stormed out of the bar.

  Fisher wished she knew what was said, but it didn’t matter.

  She knew who the woman was, and she knew where to find her.

  FORTY-NINE

  Callaway and Jimmy were at a table at the Woodbine Racetrack. Callaway had his head buried in his drink. Jimmy, on the other hand, had a smile on his face.

  “I can’t believe we lost over a grand,” Callaway said.

  Jimmy slapped him on the back. “Come on, kid. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve? We used to lose more than that on a single horse.”

  “Yeah, sure, but it’s still a lot of money.”

  “We’ll find a way to get it back, Lee,” Jimmy said.

  Callaway took a deep breath and then exhaled.

  “We always bounce back, don’t we?” Jimmy added.

  “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “We’re survivors, kid. We’ll be fine.”

  Callaway took a sip from his glass. “I’m thinking of quitting, Jimmy.”

  “I don’t blame you. The last across-the-board wager was a terrible choice. Our horse was dead last.”

  “I don’t mean the race.”

  Jimmy stared at him. “Then what?”

  “I’m thinking of shutting down the PI business.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Things have been really slow, and I’m tired of always hustling for new cases. People no longer value the service we provide.”

  “Let me tell you something, Lee,” Jimmy said. “They’ve never valued it, ever. Yo
u know why? Because they don’t know what we can do for them. They think just because we don’t have a badge, we can’t solve a mystery. We can and we do. This gig is like any business. It has its ups and downs. When things go well, you have a great time. When they don’t, it’s not much fun.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. I’m not sure how long I can keep looking forward to the good times. Even when they do come, they don’t last for long. I mean, until I got the Frank Henderson job, I had not had a case in almost a month. That’s a long time to be without work.”

  Jimmy nodded. “If you quit, then what would you do?” he asked.

  “I have no idea,” Callaway admitted. “My last long-term job was as a deputy sheriff, and that was years ago.”

  Jimmy leaned closer and put his hand on Callaway’s shoulder. “If you’ve already made up your mind, then I’m not going to try to convince you to change it. What I will say is that you are made for this business, kid. You have a knack for it that most people don’t. Believe me, I’ve met quite a few people who think this gig is about sitting in your car, taking photos, and getting paid. It’s more than that. It requires a ton of patience, knowing where to be and when, and also knowing when to show your cards and when to fold them.”

  Callaway understood what he meant by the last statement. He had the discretion to withhold information if he felt it necessary. He did that when it involved a woman named Elle Pearson.

  They sipped their drinks in silence.

  Jimmy stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. When he smoothed it out, he said, “Hey, look what I found.”

  “Is that a hundred-dollar bill?” Callaway asked, surprised.

  Jimmy grinned. “You feeling lucky, kid?”

  “Um… I think maybe we should call it a night.”

  “Don’t be a wimp,” Jimmy said, getting up from his chair. “This is a sign from Heaven. It’s telling us we can win back all that we lost tonight.”

  Callaway wasn’t sure, but Jimmy’s enthusiasm was infectious. “All right, one last wager, okay?”

  Jimmy laughed. “That’s the Lee Callaway I know!”

  FIFTY